


Circles and Circuits

by alissabobissa



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Heavy Angst, just a late night chat between cylons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-08
Updated: 2019-09-08
Packaged: 2020-10-12 19:56:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20570000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alissabobissa/pseuds/alissabobissa
Summary: When he looked up at her face he didn’t see Boomer. Never did. Really, his Sharon had never been Boomer to him until he met someone else who had her face. Another Sharon – a different Sharon – but not Boomer.Chief is restless and has a conversation with Sharon.





	Circles and Circuits

**Author's Note:**

> Written in 2008, this fic was written prior to season 4 but after season 3 aired, so it was based on season 4 speculation (about Chief being a newly-revealed Cylon) from my brain at the time.

He strode through the corridors doing more pacing than walking, up one hallway and back. No destination and no point. Aimless ambling. That’s what Cally called it when he tried to walk away his worries. It was like drifting through a place until it was a foreign territory, until he was lost. Then, when he couldn’t get any more disoriented, any more out of place, there would be clarity, like a tiny light tearing through the darkness. Then he’d be able to see, and things would come into focus. Things were supposed to make sense then.  
  
He had walked a lot on New Caprica before the Occupation, usually late at night. That’s when his thoughts tended to be the murkiest. Wandering through the tents and huts and stalls, it wasn’t difficult to lose his way. It was easier to get off path there in the dirt. A-shaped corridors and catwalks above the hanger deck, on the other hand, left little room for deviation. The closed course of florescent lighted hallways in the black gave his mind a freedom he couldn’t find in the dusty openness on the ground. But not tonight. Not since they left that damned nebula.  
  
Now, walking with cold gray walls and the smell of stale air all around him, it was well past midnight, not that he or anyone else would know. Of the few things he missed about living planet side, time passage marked by something more than a ticking got to him the most. He had no idea how long he had been wandering, but he knew exactly where he was. He was not lost. Every inch of Galactica, where every passageway and every door led, was catalogued in his mind. As he passed them he silently named the places and spaces that made up the ship. Sick bay, small arms, ready room, CIC, junior officers’ quarters. Even with the minutes remaining unmeasured, he must have been roaming the ship for no small amount of time; he had named the observation deck three times already.   
  
Home. He should just go home. He’d get into bed in the dark and lie to his wife when she rolled over and asked if he felt better. He had grown accustomed to telling her he was lighter from the walking and for her to just go back to sleep. Then he would lie awake trying to let his mind slow and maybe clear. It couldn’t, especially not now. He knew too much, felt too much – if feelings were something he actually had. But his lies made her smile, and he was good at it. She deserved to smile for the rest of her life.  
  
As he turned a familiar corner, he looked at each door in the row and softly said the name of the family who lived behind it. “Thomas, Hu, Menik, Lyle.” His door was fifth in line around the next corner. Two more to go until he turned. He counted. “Agathon, Murray.” He stopped. Why had he never really thought about how close Helo and Sharon lived to his family? This was one of the only sections of the ship that housed private and family quarters. Made sense. Didn’t he sometimes hear Hera crying in the night when he took Nicky into the corridor to let Cally sleep? Six doors down. That close.  
  
He turned around slowly and walked toward the nearest hatch. Standing in front of it and looking down at the floor he whispered, “Agathon.” He shook his head, sighed in hesitation, and knocked on the door. Six doors. Six people. Two humans. Two machines. Two children?  
  
The hatch opened with the slow squeak of metal on metal. “Chief?” Sharon said. He looked up to find her staring at him, half hidden behind the hatch. “Chief?” she repeated. “Is something wrong?” He gave no answer and cast his eyes back down at the floor.  
  
He could have been standing there looking at the metal floor for moments or hours. He couldn’t really know. A cool hand on his arm was a shock, and he barely kept from jumping when he looked at it. Cold hands. Boomer always had cold hands and cold feet.  
  
When he looked up at her face he didn’t see Boomer. Never did. Really, his Sharon had never been Boomer to him until he met someone else who had her face. Another Sharon – a different Sharon – but not Boomer. The one frowning at him now in concern looked away into her quarters for a moment as she shifted something she was holding.   
  
“Hera, say 'Hi' to the Chief,” Sharon said stepping all the way out from behind the door and balancing the small child on her hip. Hera held onto her mother around her neck and looked at him while burying her face in Sharon’s chest. Stealing quick glances at him, the little girl smiled shyly. Suddenly his eyes stung.  
  
“Sharon, I -–“  
  
“Oh my gods. Is Helo?”  
  
“No, no. He’s fine as far as I know,” he said shaking his head. “I just wanted, I just -–“  
  
“Here, Chief. Come in.” She turned around and stepped back into the room. “I need to put her down. Sit on the couch if you want.” Once inside the room, he shut the hatch but remained standing. There were pictures all around on the small tables that he perused while listening to Sharon whisper to Hera across the room. It was all so domestic. Not exactly sure what he expected, he somehow pictured their home differently, less like his own maybe.   
  
“We can talk over there. Let’s sit down.” She had finished with Hera and come up behind him so silently that he was slightly startled. Boomer could do that too, and he wondered if it was a Cylon thing or just a Sharon thing.  
  
They sat on the couch crowded against the wall, a dresser and a table. The oddness of sitting next to someone he barely knew but was all too familiar with threatened to unnerve him.   
  
“So I guess you’re still not sleeping very well?”  
  
“Try not at all,” he replied. She sank back into her seat with a soft sigh and he leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. “I still hear that song,” he said through sweaty fingers rubbing over his face. “It’s not actually there like before. I just can’t get it out of my head.” He laughed dryly and turned toward her. “Is there some kind of reboot button I can try or something?”   
  
“You know it doesn’t work like that.”  
  
“Yeah, I know.” He laughed again and sank back in his seat. “I know.”  
  
“You didn’t tell her yet, did you?” The look on his face must have been all the answer she needed. “I still think you should tell her. The sooner the better.” He was never sure why, but Sharon Agathon had been the first person he wanted to talk to after hearing the song. Actually, if he was honest, he wanted to speak with Boomer, his Sharon. There were just so many things to say, things to apologize for. But for whatever reason, he had found Sharon the day after the fleet was away from the nebula and out of danger, and he told her about himself. He told _only_ her.   
  
“Ya know, Boomer was never this pushy.” He smiled and she just stared at him for a moment before breaking into a grin.  
  
“Sure she was. You were just too busy being lead around by your d-–“  
  
“Hey, hey, hey! Child in the room, Potty Mouth.”   
  
“See? Now _this_ is what I miss about her memories: seeing this side of you.” They tried to laugh, but their chuckles became bent headed smiles, the memory of another Sharon putting a wall between them like it so often did.   
  
“It doesn’t go away,” she said looking up suddenly.  
  
“What doesn’t?”  
  
“That feeling like this is all a bad dream. That you’re really human but you just can’t wake up. She felt like that too.” Sharon looked down and sighed. “We’ll never be human, and the minute you stop wanting it so badly you’ll feel more alive than they ever will.” At that a cold sensation melted down his spine, and he shivered momentarily. Hera, saving the awkwardness on cue, murmured from her crib and Sharon got up to check on her.  
  
Maybe he _had_ been holding on too tight to being something he wasn’t. But wasn’t he still Galen Tyrol? That hadn’t changed. She was still Sharon.  
  
Sharon lifted Hera out of her crib and rubbed the child’s back as she held her. “Look. I made a choice,” she said softly but clearly still speaking to him. “I made a choice to live with humans and even fight for them, but I am well aware every minute of every day that I’m not like them. I know who I am and who I love, and I’ve chosen for myself who those people are.”  
  
Galen Tyrol: Chief Petty Officer, colonial, son, husband, father, friend, Cylon. Can’t forget Cylon. Did that classification outweigh all the rest?   
  
She looked at him and moved close enough to him to touch his arm. “It’s not all Cylon influence, or the will of God, or some kind of universal force like fate. It’s just you figuring out how to exist. That’s it.” He focused on her eyes and thought about the decisions he’d made and thought maybe, somewhere, he’d heard what she said before.  
  
“Guess I better get on home,” he said letting out a deep breath. “I suspect it’s pretty late. Thanks for listening, Sharon.” He tried to smile at her, but all he managed was a slight shrug.   
  
“Take care, Chief,” was her only reply. She smiled and looked down at the child in her arms, completely absorbed. He turned toward the hatch and the happy sounds of mother and daughter giggling followed him as he walked back out into the hallway.   
  
  
****  
  
  
When he climbed into bed a few minutes later, he had managed to enter the room without waking Nicky and his wife, or so he thought. He settled in under the covers, wrapped his arm around Cally, and took two deep breaths into her hair exhaling onto the back of her neck. She stirred quietly before twisting to face him and nuzzle into his chest.  
  
She didn’t even open her eyes. “Feeling better?”  
  
“Yeah. Better,” he whispered. For a fraction of a second before he answered, Chief let his mind conjure up a picture of how he would actually feel, how much lighter he would be if he just told her the truth. He saw himself smiling. But no, he was nowhere near better and still deciding if worse was really the best word to describe it. Lying was just easier. And sometimes the easy thing is the right thing.   
  
He kissed her forehead and pulled her closer. “Just go back to sleep.”


End file.
